


Seven SQUIP-ly Sins

by Seek_The_Stars



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Drinking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Squip, Scars, Seven Deadly Sins, Shipping If You Squint, Vomiting, everyone is sad, i'll go home, if you sQUIP, or should i say, rape mention, sex mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 04:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11524164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seek_The_Stars/pseuds/Seek_The_Stars
Summary: Jake does what he can for his friends, providing the love and care that they need to handle their insecurities and guilt. Still, the love of one friend isn't always enough.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> Wow... so the feedback on my last fic got me back into writing. Whether that's a good or bad thing, I'll let you guys decide.
> 
> This fic is based around how the SQUIP Squad (save for Jake) represent the seven deadly sins... some literally, others in more headcanon-y ways. They can be posted in any order, so let me know which ones you want to see the most!
> 
> Also I apologize for how short the intro is--the actual chapters will be much longer :-)

Jake Dillinger was by no means a perfect person—he had his flaws, just like everyone else. He could be unintentionally blunt, and his penchant for honesty had lead to some uncomfortable conversations with his exes (“No, it’s not that the dress makes you look _fat_ , it’s just—maybe a different dress would look better?”).

Perhaps his biggest flaw, the one that scoured his features and toyed with his brain the most, was his perceptiveness of his friends’ own flaws. Jake so desperately wanted to see them as equals, as flawed, normal individuals. But each moment he spent with the SQUIP Squad magnified his perception of those traits.

If he could reach into their souls and scoop out those imperfections, he would. He was sure his friends would be much happier without the weight of anger and dissatisfaction on their shoulders.

Since he couldn’t do that, the closest he could get was to listen. He drank in their words and offered advice, the best he could give, and prayed to whatever spirit dwelled beyond the realm of mortals that his friends would, in the end, step into the sun and shed the darkness in their hearts.


	2. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brooke is jealous of how popular Chloe is, and tries to one-up her.
> 
> Maybe, in the end, being Brooke is better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: This chapter deals with underage sex/drinking and has discussion of rape (though no rape actually occurs). Please be careful!
> 
>  
> 
> Otherwise, please let me know who you'd like to see next! 
> 
> Also, if anything here is problematic or needs to be tagged differently, PLEASE let me know.

Having your house burn down during a party kind of takes the fun out of going to parties, and replaces said fun with irrational fear of anything remotely warm or flammable. So, Jake politely declined any party invites, unless it was a low-key event with his close friends. Despite his reluctance to go to a party, he was always willing to chauffer the members of the SQUIP Squad. Of course, his friends didn’t always take him up on his offers, and often he found himself awake almost all night, hoping that everyone made it home safely.

It’s one in the morning on a Saturday when his phone buzzes from his nightstand. Jake shoots up and takes the call without checking who it is. Something in his gut tells him that it’s one of the SQUIP Squad.

“Hello?” his voice cracks, and he clears his throat to try again. “Hello?”

There is a pause, during which he can hear music pulse like a heartbeat in the background. He presses the phone hard against his ear, as if that will make much a difference, and jumps at the sudden loud voice coming through the speaker.

“Whosis?”

“It’s… Jake?” He checks the caller ID—Brooke. “You’re the one who called me.”

“’s not true.”

In the three, four, five words she had slurred together, Jake can already tell that Brooke is drunk beyond her mind. She’s always been a lightweight, but usually their friends kept close and watched her alcohol consumption.

“…Jer’my?”

“It’s Jake.” He makes sure to speak slowly and annunciate.

“Can you come get me?”

Jake is already pulling on his varsity jacket and grabbing keys from the nightstand as she says that. He’s in the motel parking lot, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, and begs Brooke to stay on the line. There’s something about her tone, how thin her voice sounds, that really scares Jake.

“Whose house are you at?” he asks, nearly running into a parked vehicle as he exits the lot.

There’s a pause, and it sounds like Brooke is cursing under her breath. Jake calls her name, and she comes back on the line.

“Dunno. Ugly house. ’s got this door…”

Jake does his best not to sigh in the phone. “What’s so special about the door?”

“Ugly.”

Realization strikes, and Jake slams on the acceleration to get through a yellow light. “Purple?”

“Yeah, or indigo or some shit.” She hiccups. “I can’t tell. ’s dark here.”

He’s barely listening as Brooke rambles on, instead going much faster than the speed limit permits. He knows exactly where she is, and she shouldn’t be there. None of them should be there, since it’s the house of a Middleborough dropout rumored to have an iron liver and restraining orders from even the most promiscuous Middleborough students. None of the SQUIP Squad in their right minds would be there, so why was Brooke there?

“Brooke, is anyone else there?”

“Oh, there’s _tons_ of people.”

“I mean from our friend group? Like, someone you recognize?”

There’s a grunt on the other end. “No.”

He manages to keep Brooke on the line for ten more minutes, and he’s pulled up to the curb of the house with the ugly purple door and Brooke’s standing there and she looks like _shit_. Jake’s mind races as he hurries up the walk, tripping over his own two feet as he approaches.

Brooke looked bad from a distance, but she looks worse up close. Her cardigan is torn, and there are red marks all along her neck, some of them still wet. Her makeup is completely smudged on the right side of her face, like she’d tried to wipe half of it off Mulan-style with her sleeve. Her eyes are red and puffy, hair tangled around them and pressed to the sweaty skin. She’s shaking.

Jake reaches out to hug her, but hesitates. Brooke doesn’t seem to notice he’s there.

“Brooke?”

The music pounding inside the house cuts off, and there’s a crash as the stereo bursts through the window next to them. Brooke jumps a little too late, and stumbles backwards into Jake’s arms. She buries her face into his chest; Jake feels her mouth move, but has no clue what she’s saying.

“Can you walk alright, Brooke? We should get into my car.”

Brooke’s mouth stops moving, but her feet start. She’s really not walking properly, knees knocked like a toddler, so Jake puts her arm over his shoulders and drapes his own arm behind her back, leading her to the car. She pushes away, and he’s worried he’s done something wrong, but she just retches into the grass by the curb. Jake holds her hair back with one hand and rubs circles into her spine with the other, trying to ignore the yellow, runny fluid dribbling from her pink lips.

When she’s done, Jake decides it’s best not to dignify her undignified moment with a comment, even though she’s probably too shit-faced to remember whatever he says. He gets her into the passenger seat, but can’t get her buckled up properly. Jake just leans the car seat back a bit so that she doesn’t flop forward, gets into his own seat, and puts the car in drive.

They’ve barely moved when Brooke makes gagging sounds again. Jake slams on the brake, fishes around in the back seat for an old grocery bag, and holds it up to Brooke’s face. He sets it at her feet when she’s done.

They’re on the move again, and this time Brooke doesn’t seem as nauseous. At least that’s a start.

Jake pulls into a 7-Eleven and hesitantly taps Brooke’s shoulder. She looks like she’s asleep, but her eyes are half-lidded.

“Brooke? I’m gonna get some food, okay?”

She grunts in response.

“Is there anything specific you want me to get?”

Another grunt.

“Good talk.” He’d feel bad for saying that if she were more sober, but at this point he’s too frustrated to care. He has plenty of questions for Brooke when she’s less drunk.

He grabs water and pre-popped popcorn and some high protein peanut butter crackers and doesn’t bother collecting his change. At this point, Jake is just hoping Brooke didn’t stumble out of the car and pass out behind the store.

Thankfully, she’s right where he left her, and her eyes are a bit more open. She’s got the mirror of her visor down, and is poking at the lipstick streak on her cheek.

“’m bleeding,” she bemoans.

“That’s lipstick,” Jake says as he passes her the water. Brooke fumbles with the bottle, so he takes it back and twists the cap off. He’s about to hand it back when he notices how her hands are shaking. He brushes hair from her face and tips the water to her messy lips. She laps it up gratefully, drinking like she’s completely dehydrated.

Jake puts the bottle in the cupholder and hands Brooke the (now open) pack of crackers. He dashes out to toss the vomit-filled bag in the trash, and goes back into the store to get a few more plastic bags. The cashier gives him a look, but Jake ignores it.

Brooke munches on the crackers when he’s back. There’s some water on her chin, and a wet spot on her shirt, but she looks less… dead? No, that isn’t the right word. She still looks like shit, but Jake decides she looks 10% less shitty than she did when he picked her up.

It’s an improvement, at the very least.  
“So,” Jake begins, too impatient to let Brooke sober up more. “What were you doing at Carl Marino’s house alone.”

She mumbles around her food.

“Swallow your food, Brooke.”

She obeys. “Wasn’t alone.” Her glazed eyes roll, like it should be obvious.

“Okay. Who were you with?”

“Carl.”

“You were at his house, or you were actually _with_ Carl?” He eyes the hickeys on her neck again, this time more closely.

“He’s good to me,” Brooke says, but she doesn’t look convinced.

“Brooke, what happened tonight?” Jake asks, slow and deliberate.

She fiddles with the plastic wrapping of the crackers. “Said I’d feel good. I _wanted_ to feel good.”

Jake almost vomits in the bags he just got. He tries not to think about that sleaze ball with his fingers up Brooke’s skirt.

Fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, Jake ventures, “Can you tell me what happened?”

Brooke scrunched up her nose, like she was considering the question carefully. “I wanted t’get drunk. Had to. ’n he was throwing, so I went.”

“Why’d you want to get drunk with Marino?”

Brooke smiled—she actually smiled for the first time that night, and it was terrifying. Jake found himself shying away from the wide smile; it didn’t match her distant gaze.

“’cuz I hadda one-up Chloe.”

Jake froze, because that was certainly not what he expected.

“W-what?”

“She’s so, y’know.” Brooke gestures vaguely with her hands, dropping the last cracker on her lap in the process. “She’s _great_. Gets ev’ryone. Wanna be like that.”

“You got drunk with Marino because you want to be like Chloe?” Jake’s completely lost.

“Chlo—”she hiccups “—Chloe has fucked, like, thirty dudes in the past week.”

Jake highly doubts that is an accurate number, but keeps his mouth shut.

“’n she’s so popular! I hadta up my game, so I got ballsy.”

Brooke giggles, and Jake resists the urge to slap a hand over her mouth.

“Brooke,” he manages, his voice cracking, “you shouldn’t have to be like Chloe.”

Now, Brooke looks upset. “But ev’ryone loves her. You guys love her. You’re all, ‘Wow, Chloe is—’” another hiccup “—so _great_ because she _fucks_ and _kisses_ but now I’m the one who fucked, not her!” She laughs again. “I did good. Now I’ll be the talk of the school, not Chlo.”

Jake blinks. “What did you drink?”

“A lot.”

“What _kind_ of drinks, Brooke?”

She laughs again. “Jungle juice. It was fruity.”

“Brooke…” Jake runs his hands over his face. He’s seen all of his friends drunk, but Brooke was never this far gone. “Brooke, you can’t just go to a party alone because you’re trying to one-up your best friend.”

“Fuck you!” Brooke’s voice is weak. Her eyes water.

“No, Brooke.” The heat of anger rises in Jake’s gut. “Fuck _you_. Fuck you, Brooke, for making me drive to come get you from a college party that you went to alone. Fuck you for thinking it was a good idea to hook up with Carl Marino, and an extra fuck you if you didn’t use any protection. Fuck you for thinking that you don’t matter to us unless you’re just like Chloe. That’s why we like you, Brooke— _you’re_ nothing _like Chloe!_ ”

Tears spill onto Brooke’s cheeks. She’s looking directly at Jake.

“And fuck you for making me worry about you like this!” Jake continues. “How _dare_ you not see how much we care about you! So, stop trying to be someone you’re not, because I love you for who you are. All of us do! Do you think Chloe will be happy to know that you did this?”

Brooke turns away. Jake winces—it came out much more accusatory than he’d intended.

He speaks softly this time. “She’s gonna be so worried, Brooke.”

They sit in silence. Jake doesn’t bother looking at the dashboard clock, because he’s had the car turned off for a while.

“She’s gonna yell at me,” Brooke finally whimpers.

“Maybe.” Jake runs a hand through his hair. “But if she does, it’ll be out of concern.”

Brooke stares at the last cracker, but makes no move to eat it.

“How’re you feeling?” Jake asks. It’s a dumb question, but he wants to make sure Brooke knows that he’s not just here to lecture her.

“Like shit.”

“You’re sobering up?”

“Yeah. A bit.”

“Did you…” he hesitates, not wanting to pose this question. “Did you want to go to the hospital?”

Brooke stares at him.

“For a… kit?”

It takes Brooke a few moments to understand, but she eventually shakes her head.

“It was consensual. I wasn’t drugged or anything.” She lets out a laugh devoid of humor. “I initiated it. I just… I regret it now.” She turns her wide eyes to Jake, and she looks tired.

And then she’s sobbing, leaning against Jake and letting out guttural sobs. Jake rubs her back, like he did when she threw up, but this time she’s not throwing up and she’s sober and she’s full of regret, no longer proud of herself.

“I hate myself,” Brooke cries into Jake’s chest.

“I love you,” Jake replies, because there’s nothing else he can say.

“I wish I was anyone else.”

“I love you just how you are.”

“I wish I was Chloe.”

“I wish you loved yourself.”

It takes a while, but Brooke stops crying. She says her mom will kill her for coming home this late, so Jake drives her to the motel and washes her face and lets her take the bed.

“If you change your mind,” he says as she collapses onto the blankets, “about the kit—”

Brooke mumbles into the pillow, something along the lines of “I know,” and then she’s snoring.

Jake is still awake when the sun rises, watching Brooke’s even breaths and wishing she could love herself as much as all of her friends love her.


	3. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone has single-handedly bought every bottle of Mountain Dew Red from Spencer's, but won't fess up.
> 
> Jake sees Jeremy's fridge is full of Mountain Dew Red, and can't help but be a little bit suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: scars (not self-inflicted)
> 
> Let me know who you'd like to see next! I've got ideas for all of the SQUIP Squad.

Jake flops down on Jeremy’s bed as soon as he enters the bedroom. The lanky boy scoffs, tugging down the sleeves of his cardigan and positioning himself on a worn beanbag chair. “Why do you always take my bed?”

“It’s better for my legs,” Jake replies, flexing his feet.

Jeremy flushes. “Really? Sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

Jake quirks an eyebrow. “I’m kidding, dude. I just do it to piss you off.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

They laugh. It’s good, to be able to hang out with somebody who likes Jake for Jake, not for his popularity. Most of the SQUIP Squad only met him _because_ of his popularity, though they obviously care about him as a person nowadays, but Jeremy had been interested in Jake’s personality and interests since the play. Michael is nice, too, but Jake always detects a note of reticence when the two are together, as if Michael is afraid that Jake is too cool for him.

He’s brought back to the present when Jeremy hands over a copy of their AP literature project rubric. Jake groans reflexively as soon as he sees the one hundred point grading scale.

“English is my worst subject,” Jake whines.

Jeremy frowns. “Don’t you have a ninety-three in it right now?”

“Yeah. That’s my lowest grade.”

“Dude, I’d kill for that grade! Thank god we were paired up. I don’t think I could have handled doing this project with someone like Dustin Kropp.”

Jake silently agrees, wondering how Dustin had even managed to get into the advanced course.

“Anyways,” Jeremy says, “it looks like we’ve each got to pick a book, read them, and draw parallels between them. Any ideas?”

“ _Huck Finn_ and _Tom Sawyer_?”

Jeremy shakes his head. “Have to be by different authors.”

“Says who?”

“The third bullet point.”

“Fuck the third bullet point.”

Jeremy laughs. “Okay, we can do one of those if you really want to, though. Maybe _Huck Finn_ and some other book that deals with racism?”

Jake tries running through the books he’s read in past English classes, but his mind draws a blank. “Dude, I honestly have no idea.”

“What about _To Kill a Mockingbird_?”

Jake shrugs. “Alright, yeah. That’ll work. Which one’s shorter?”

Jeremy gives him a look.

“I’m kidding—kinda.” He puts the rubric down next to him and leans back, crossing his arms behind his head. “I guess that’s it for now.”

“W-what?” Jeremy sputters. “But we’ve still got to get the books and read them!”

Jake huffs out a laugh. “What, you want to read together? That’s cute, but I think we’ll be better off on our own. The project’s due in a month. How about we have the books read for Monday the seventeenth? That’s in, like, a week and a half.”

“Fine. But I call dibs on _Mockingbird_.”

Jake doesn’t need to sit up to know that Jeremy’s on his phone, looking up which book is shorter. “Don’t be a bitch, Jeremy. I’ve got an archery tournament on Friday.”

“You dropped out of archery to do the play.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“You told me, like, point-blank. Several times.”

Jake sits up. “Pics or it didn’t happen.”

Jeremy snorts, lips curled up into a smile. Sure enough, his phone is in hand, and the cover of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ is on screen. “I think Rich is rubbing off on you.”

Jake makes a noncommittal noise and falls back over, shutting his eyes and listening to the whirr of the ceiling fan.

Silence fills the space between them, but it’s comfortable. They feel safe together—at least, Jake feels safe around Jeremy. Sure, the kid had almost destroyed the entire school and (perhaps) all of civilization, but he meant well.

“Hey,” Jeremy says. “Wanna order a pizza or something? My dad’s working late.”

“Nah, my parents want me home for dinner.”

“I—oh.”

A beat.

“I’m kidding, Jeremy. They’re still on the run.”

“Okay.”

Jake opens his eyes. “It’s funny.”

“Alright.”

Jake kicks his feet around, catching what feels like Jeremy’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude, Jeremy. I’m trying to tell a joke.”

He keeps kicking, and Jeremy keeps laughing, and everything’s going well. Jake hasn’t felt this lighthearted in a while; it isn’t like he’s been sad, but with his legs still weak from the time in casts and memories of the SQUIP and its honeyed words still fresh in his memory, it is nice to relax and think about literally anything else.

Jeremy orders the pizza online, insisting that they have to get Papa John’s because Jeremy wants to earn enough Papa Points on his account to warrant a free pizza.

“You need, like, twenty more points, Jeremy.”

“I didn’t say I was close to my goal.”

While they wait for the pizza, they play some old GameCube game that Jake doesn’t really recognize or understand, but Jeremy’s rambling on about how transformative it was in his gaming career, so Jake at least makes an effort to play coherently.

Just as Jake’s character dies for the fifth time, Jeremy’s phone rings.

“Pizza?” Jake asks.

Jeremy checks the caller ID. “No, Michael.” He picks up and greets his friend with a smile. However, the smile falters. Jeremy holds up a finger, telling Jake that he needs a minute, so Jake leaves the room. He shuts the door behind him and wanders down to the kitchen, hoping he can find some soda or chips to go with their dinner.

He finds a bag of stale Doritos, but they’re good enough for him. There’s no soda in the fridge, but he recalls Jeremy mentioning a mini-fridge in the garage, so he heads out there to scope out the drink situation.

Now, Jake knows that Jeremy and Michael have this vintage food, drink, and game fetish going on, and he’s never questioned it. Well, not until he’s opening the mini-fridge and bottle upon bottle of Mountain Dew Red fall out. He jumps back, watching helplessly as the seemingly endless stream of bottles fall to the ground. Jake pushes against the flow, cramming the bottles back into the fridge, and comes to realize that Mountain Dew Red is the only drink in there.

And the mini-fridge is _stuffed_. There has to be a hundred bottles in there.

Jake gets a little light-headed; seeing that red beverage brings up bad memories, and the twitching tremors in his legs start up again. He hadn’t had them in a week, but now they were unbearable. Stretching his legs and rubbing his hands along his calves, Jake whispered a little grounding mantra to himself. When he feels like he can at least stumble back into the house, he crams the last of the soda into the mini-fridge, slams the door shut, and heads inside.

He catches Jeremy at the end of a loud rant, which is followed by a pause and then a muffled groan. Jake heads upstairs, slowly so as not to aggravate his legs any more, and finds Jeremy facedown on the bed, phone on the ground.

“That’s my spot,” Jake jokes.

Jeremy turns his head to face Jake, and his cheeks are red. Jake frowns, sitting down beside Jeremy. “What happened?”

“Mike’s pissed.”

“At you?” Jake fails to hide the surprise in his voice. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Jeremy sighs, rolling over onto his back. He clasps his hands on his stomach, and Jake notices for the first time that skinny little Jeremy isn’t so skinny anymore—he’s got a bit of a gut poking out over his belt. It’s not a big change, but it catches Jake off-guard.

“Apparently Rich is having SQUIP issues,” Jeremy confesses. Jake’s about to go ballistic and call Rich, but Jeremy puts his hands on Jake’s. “He’s just hearing it, y’know, he and I hear it sometimes. We had it the longest.”

Jake already knows where this is headed, but he feigns innocence.

“So Michael went to get some Red from Spencer’s. But, uh, there’s none there.” Jeremy’s cheeks darken even more. “He thinks I took it all.”

Jake swallows thickly. “Uh, did you?” He hopes his voice isn’t too high.

If it is, Jeremy doesn’t notice. “No, of course not! I mean, I’ve bought a few cases, but it’s not like I bought out the entire back room!”

Jake bites his tongue, because from the look of that garage, Jeremy _did_ buy out the entire back room. He wonders how many of those Mountain Dew Red bottles Jeremy had drank already.

“Do you have any spare bottles around here?”

Jeremy gives him a look much like the one earlier. “If I did, I’d be bringing it over to Rich right now.”

Jake feels sick to his stomach. Rich is suffering, and Jeremy quite literally has the cure, but is withholding it. He should say something; he should tell Jeremy what he knows.

Then Jeremy’s phone rings, and it’s their pizza. Jake follows Jeremy downstairs, supplies a few dollars for the tip, and then they sit in the kitchen.

Jeremy’s phone buzzes several times, but he turns it off and puts it facedown across the table.

Jake frowns. “What if it’s important?”

“It’s not.” Jeremy picks pepperoni off of his slice.

Jake sighs, conflicted. He likes Jeremy, he really does, but this is going too far. Rich, their friend, is suffering. Jeremy should at least care enough to help.

“Jeremy,” Jake starts, awkwardly. Jeremy catches onto his tone and sets his food down. “I saw the fridge.”

“You saw…” Jeremy’s expression goes from confused to stone cold in a millisecond. “What were you doing out there?”

“Looking for soda. And I found it. A _lot_ of it.” Jake rubs the back of his neck. “What are you doing, man? You’re lying to Michael, to me, to Rich—”

“You wouldn’t understand!” Jeremy snaps.

Jake flinches at this. Jeremy has never raised his voice at anyone in the SQUIP Squad, and Jake certainly hadn’t planned on being the first to experience his wrath. Jeremy doesn’t look regretful, though; his eyes are narrowed to slits, his lips pulled together tightly.

“Try me.”

Jeremy scoffs, but starts to look uncertain.

“Jeremy,” Jake says in a warning tone.

Jake’s not sure what’s happening, but suddenly Jeremy’s nose is scrunched up and his eyes are watering. His fingers toy with the hem of his shirt.

“I still hear it.”

Jake hesitates. “You—what?”

“The SQUIP.” Jeremy’s gaze is pleading, but Jake can’t give him anything. “I still hear it. I—I can’t be alone, or have no one to talk to, because then it gets really loud and my head starts to hurt and my back…” he trails off, but Jake is left even more curious.

“Your back? Jeremy, what about your back?”

Jeremy looks ready to sink into the floor. Jake pushes the pizza out of the way so that nothing is in between them.

“Jeremy?”

Jeremy stands up, turns around, and starts to pull his shirt up. Jake audibly gasps, and Jeremy lets the clothing fall back into place, but the damage is done. Pink scars like the roots of a tree branch out from Jeremy’s spine, creating some horrific tattoo.

“It shocked me,” Jeremy whispered. “When I did something wrong.”

Jake can’t speak. He thinks of Rich, who refused to take his shirt off when they went to the pool. How bad were _his_ scars?

For a moment, Jake feels guilty, because this is about Jeremy, but he remembers that Jeremy’s the one with all of the Mountain Dew Red. So, Jake rises from his chair and comes around the table to face Jeremy.

Jeremy looks miserable, eyes flicking around the room like he’s waiting for his SQUIP to pop out from behind the furniture.

“Jeremy, please look at me.”

Jeremy doesn’t, so Jake gently takes his chin and turns it forward. Their eyes lock, and tears spill over Jeremy’s cheeks.

“Is that why you took the Mountain Dew Red?”

Jeremy’s voice comes out as nothing more than a whine, so he just nods. Jake takes a deep breath, willing his face to stay even.

“How many have you drank?”

Jeremy takes a breath, too. “I don’t know,” he confesses, “but I’ve spent more on Red than I did on the SQUIP.”

Sheesh.

Jake regards Jeremy for another moment, then pulls him close into a hug. Jeremy stiffens, and Jake’s worried that he’s gone too far, but then Jeremy’s arms are wrapped around him, and he’s sobbing into Jake’s varsity jacket, and Jake’s wondering how he always gets into this situation, with someone getting tears and snot on his clothes.

Not that he minds, really.

“How about we bring Rich a bottle or two, Jeremy?” Jake suggests. “And we can hang out.”

Jeremy makes a noise.

Jake pulls away, just enough that he can hear Jeremy repeat, “Okay.”

They take the pizza out to the car, and Jeremy grabs a single bottle of Red. Jake doesn’t say anything until they’re parked outside of Rich’s house.

“Jeremy?”

He’s looking out the window, but Jake knows that he’s listening.

“If it ever gets too loud up there, just call me. I really don’t have much going on, ever, and I can drop what I’m doing for you.”

Jeremy looks at him, eyes glistening and red. Jake’s worried that Jeremy is about to have another episode, but Jeremy just smiles. It’s weak, but it’s a smile.

“What about archery practice?”

Jake ruffles Jeremy’s hair. He’s not sure why, but they both seem to like it. “We’ll have to see about that one.”


End file.
